


Beginning Anew at the Citadel

by DahliaVanDare



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Car Accidents, F/M, Grief/Mourning, High survival rate, Identity, Lots of War Boys didn't die, Memories, Mourning Nux, Names, Nux Lives, Post-Canon, Slow Burn, Transformation, War Paint, hellkitty's Coma-Doof, mute Coma-Doof
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-26
Updated: 2015-08-09
Packaged: 2018-04-06 07:45:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 9,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4213683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DahliaVanDare/pseuds/DahliaVanDare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Furiosa, Toast, Capable, Cheedo, and the Dag take over the Citadel, they make changes big and small.<br/>----<br/>I've got some different ideas on how things would go. Also, Nux doesn't die, or Slit, or Coma-Doof. The rating may still go up.<br/>**this depiction of Coma-Doof is based on/draw's from hellkitty's version**<br/>This work is internally consistent with, but not necessarily in the same universe as my fic "What Do War Boy Do After Battle", but will not remain consistent with my fic "Under the Skin" (sorry Larry/Barry fans)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ragnarok

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The five women return and claim the Citadel

The War Pups raised the women in to the Citadel as the Wretched tore apart Joe’s corpse. Cheered them, welcomed them, intuiting that the Citadel’s new leader was among the passengers of the Gigahorse, among those that had so recently escaped its walls. The fact that they so readily accepted the coup worried Furiosa. However despicable he was, Joe had been their god. If they gave him up this easily, what loyalty could a mortal leader hope to receive?

Once they were inside the fortress, the Pups gathered round them, a chest-height crowd accompanying them as they made their way through the halls, the areas beyond the vault familiar only to Furiosa. The women went first to the Organic Mechanic’s lair. He was dead, having been out on the chase, but a handful of Boys who assisted him were there, tending to ill and injured War Boys, and above them hung the cages the Blood Bags were in.

“Pups, hold.” Furiosa gave the command, and they obediently remained in the hallway. Although they had not abandoned their posts to investigate the cheering, it was obvious the Medical Boys were curious what was afoot.

“Immortan Joe is dead. The Citadel is ours now.” Furiosa announced as she walked over to an empty cot. Cheedo helped her lower herself to sit down. “I need someone to stitch my wounds.” Toast stood next to her, silent, making sure everyone could see her casually-held pistol, along with the second that hung at her hip. The Medical Boys looked from one to another, their gazes finally settling on if not the oldest then surely the tallest Medical Boy, who nodded and shambled over. He was the very lanky sort of tall, all forearms and elbows. He reached in to several of the many pockets of his typical War Boy pants, but instead of bullets or wrenches pulled out swabs, a small squirt bottle of disinfectant, and a small tin. He knelt beside the cot to examine Furiosa’s injuries. He squirted a little disinfectant on the swabs and leaned so close his face was practically in her wound as he started cleaning them. With vision that bad it was no wonder he had not been out on the road. He popped open the tin, which contained several different needles, each threaded with a line for doing sutures. He held it right at his nose to select one. After stowing the back in a pocket he started to stitch.

The Dag stretched her shoulders and hummed. “Do you have a name too?”

The Medical Boy seemed surprised but pleased that she asked. “I’m Drogan. What should I call you?”

“Not Breeders,” Toast growled.

“Or Wives,” added the Dag.

“What about our names?” asked Cheedo.

“What if we don’t like our names?” asked the Dag.

Drogan finished stitching up the first wound and started cleaning the second. “Imperator, I’m almost done, and then we can get you hooked up to a Blood Bag.”

Furiosa’s eyes sapped open. “No, no Blood Bag.”

“But, Imperator, you’ve lost blood and-”

“If she needs blood, she can have mine.” Cheedo said, stepping in front of the others.

“No more Blood Bags,” Furiosa said, raising her head, “Release all the Blood Bags. See that they get food and water and a bed for tonight, we’ll figure out what they can do tomorrow. No one here is things.”

She lay down again and let Drogan get back to stitching. “I mean now. Get them out of those cages, all of them.” The room suddenly buzzed to life. The women had not noticed that the Medical Boys were all still listening to them instead of working, but the bustle now that they were lowering and opening the cages made clear that they had dawdling to eavesdrop while Furiosa was being stitched.

“Pup!” Furiosa called, and several small white faces peeped through the doorway “Yes you, come here.” She didn’t care which one came and was happy to let them sort it out for themselves. Two came over, each elbowing to be in front, each convinced she had meant him. “I want you to start spreading the word that these women,” she gestured at Cheedo, Toast, the Dag, and Capable, “Are to move about the Citadel freely. You are all to let them go wherever they need and to keep them safe.” Furiosa rested her head back on the cot.

“But, what if we want to go somewhere they think we won’t be safe?” Toast pointed out.

“You’re awfully shiny to want to go somewhere not safe,” said the smaller War Pup, eyes wide in admiration.

"He said he was keeping us safe," Cheedo whispered.

Furiosa sighed “They are not to be interfered with. No one shall hamper their movements, no one shall touch them without their permission, no one shall harm them. Tell everyone.” The Pups nodded. She was about to send them on their way when she remembered what the Dag had done with the Medical Boy.

“Do either of you have names yet?”

“Yes, I’m Boomer and this is Led.” He smiled and was missing a few teeth.

“Good. No one is things here now. Tell everyone that too.”


	2. The First Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the first morning after they have taken the Citadel, and the women have matters to discuss.

When the others woke up, Capable was not with them. Furiosa said she had left earlier, assured them Capable would come back when she was ready.

“She always keeps herself private,” the Dag mused.

The four of them had a meeting over breakfast, a soup of white beans, greens, and garlic. They knew they needed to keep things running, or they would face their own mutiny.

“I’ll be in charge of the armory, guns and ammo,” Toast volunteered.

“Of course you will,” Cheedo giggled.

“We should be ready to defend this place,” Toast insisted.

The Dag had pulled the Keeper’s bag out from somewhere and was examining the seeds. “These little things get bigger…”

“Would you like to be in charge of growing the seeds?” Furiosa prompted, gently.

“I’m going to get bigger.” The Dag finished. Furiosa breathed in as if she was going to say something, but then just let it go with a little shake of her head.

“Cheedo?” Furiosa asked.

“I… always thought I’d like to be around children,” she said quietly.

“Then you can work with the Pups, we’ll need them to learn more than War Boying if we want to change this place. We’ll see if we can teach them along with the other children.”

“That’s a lot to handle,” Cheedo’s voice got small when she worried.

“It is,” Furiosa agreed, “Maybe some of the Milk Mothers can help you.”

“The Milk Mothers!” Toast exclaimed, “We freed the Blood Bags, but we forgot about them!” She jumped up, the guilt plain on her face.

“We will go to them as soon as we’re finished here. I promise.” Furiosa’s words stopped Toast before she reached the door. “We’ll need to ask though if any of them are willing to keep producing milk; the nurslings will still need to eat.”

“You would ask that some of them never be free?” Toast asked, taking another step toward the door.

“We can change to the Vuvalini way now, where mothers provide milk to their own babies. Sometimes there is still need of milking if a mother can’t provide enough on her own, but not like it has been. We would only need enough Milk Mothers to keep milking to feed the current nurslings until they wean. We won’t steal their milk anymore for ones too old to drink it.”

Toast stayed but remained standing for the rest of the meeting.

“So, Toast will be in charge of weapons and ammunition, Cheedo of the children and War Pups, and any Milk Mothers who agree to help her, the Dag will be in charge of growing things, and you’ll need help with that too, will you work with some Milk Mothers?”

“I never met a mother I didn’t like,” the Dag said, making two seeds dance on her stomach as she slouched and made it stick out what little bit she could.

“We may get you some help from War Pups and Wretched too, depending on how much needs doing. Toast, could you also be in charge of vehicles and guzzoline?”

“Yes.”

“And I’ll see about managing food and water, how much do we have, how much do we need. I hope that once we have more growing we can feed the Wretched, some of them can help us farm, and maybe they can be, not so wretched.”

“Someone should be in charge of the War Boys too, the ones that are left.” Cheedo said.

“That goes with my things,” Toast piped up.

“You don’t need to rule with an iron fist if you have one,” the Dag sing-songed.

“Is she talking about me?” Furiosa was still not used to the pale woman’s ways.

“I think she’s saying you should do it,” Cheedo replied softly. Toast shot her a look, but Cheedo steeled herself and went on, “The War Boys know and respect you; you were an Imperator, they understand that. They know you’ve proven yourself in battle, and you know their ways. They’ll understand you, because you understand them. Toast doesn’t.”

Toast glowered. “It’s true,” Cheedo said, defiant. “They may come to respect you, but right now they don’t know you from me. I couldn’t control them.”

Toast sighed and adjusted her holster, the smallest corner of her new domain. “Fine. What’s Capable going to do?”

“We can talk to her about it when she comes back. I don’t know if she’s ready yet to be in charge of something.” Furiosa got to her feet. “Let’s go see the Milk Mothers.” And she put on her arm, just in case.


	3. Where Capable Went

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During their first night back at the Citadel, Capable slipped away from the others to grieve, and found herself in the Citadel Nux had described to her.

Even though the room was unfamiliar, it was too crowded with memories. Being cramped in with the other Wives, so much as they had been the last few days when they were out on the road, reminded her too much of those they had lost. The others seemed to take comfort in being so close. Even Furiosa, where she lay beside the door, seemed to appreciate having the other women near by. Restless, Capable made her way to the door. She had thought everyone else was asleep, but as she reached for the handle, Furiosa whispered “When will you be back?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then you’d better take my knife.”

Capable accepted the sheathed blade and stuck it in the ankle of her boot, before stealing out to the hallways in the night.

After a few steps she realized the knife in her boot was a mistake; it was rising already, working its way out of her supposedly clever storage spot. She pulled it out and stuck it inside the wrappings at her waist.

Capable walked to Joe’s Overlook, where he used to stand when he dispensed water to the wretched. The night was cloudless and the moon was bright. Capable walked out to the edge and looked down on the shanty town of the Wretched. It occurred to that in the moonlight, anyone looking up from the ground might mistake her for some sort of spectral guardian, come to take care of them. Capable quickly drew back. She did not want them to see her. She could not take care of anyone. Capable left the pumping room behind.

She followed the passages down and down, past the Vault, past the Organic Mechanic, to where the War Boys lived and worked. It was just the way Nux had described it to her one night on Fury Road. 

_“Everything we need is down by the mechanic shop. We have a mess hall right next to the shop, and above that are the War Boy bunks.”_

_“You have bunks? We always thought you slept in your cars.”_

_“Some Boys do sometimes, I do when I’m working on my Coup and I don’t want to loose time. But usually Slit an I sleep in our bunk. They’re all cut in to the rock, one above the other, and our bunk is real choice; up in the top row, so no one sticks their legs in when they’re climbing to their bunk, and it’s farthest from the shop so it’s quietest. Next above the War Boy bunks are the painting room and the supply room, and above that the War Pups. It’s not as shine for them, being so far from the garage, but-”_

_“The garage?”_

_“The garage, the shop. The mechanic shop is the part where we work, where all the tools are, the garage is the whole place, the shop and where the cars and rigs are parked.”_

Capable walked past the chambers of sleeping War Pups, then a couple of closed doors set in to the wall, across the wide hall where the walls were honeycombed with War Boy bunks. She heard a few sleeping sounds, but they were largely empty now. She wandered in to the dark mechanic shop to spot one patch of light at the far end. A War Boy, almost twice her age, was leaning over an engine by the light of a pair of lanterns. Capable crept toward him. He looked up when she had reached the edge of his patch of light.

“Anything I can help you with?” he asked, coming out from behind the engine, which revealed that one of his legs was a metal prosthetic.

_“The mechanic who taught me is called Wrench. He’s about the best there is. He even built himself a mechanical leg when he lost his.”_

_“Like Furiosa’s arm?”_

_“Better. You can do plenty without moving your arm, but Socket’s leg, he put in pistons to adjust it so he can stand on unlevel ground. He even has a hook on the knee so he can climb with it. I wish I had made something that shine.”_

What did she want from him? She hadn’t been looking for Wrench specifically, or anyone, as a matter of fact. She just wanted to walk in Nux’s world. “You taught Nux to be a Black Thumb?”

“Yes,” he said, one corner of his mouth twitching up, “He’s a good one, too. Were you looking to learn?”

She thought of Nux and the way he talked about engines, the way he got so excited, and she missed him. “Yes. Teach me to be a Black Thumb.”


	4. Slit and the Crash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slit and some other War Boys survive the crash.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains some description of car crash injuries

The wait had felt interminable. Slit had found a driver with room for a lancer, but now no one was driving. After Rictus had announced the life and death of his brother, Slit had thought surely they would resume the chase, but instead they sat idle. Slit was antsy, but with the possibility of the Immortan calling on them at any moment, Slit knew better than to start something up just to blow off steam. He tried to fill his time working on his new driver’s car. The driver was only recently moved up from a Pup, and his rig still lacked battle-marks or anything else to make it special. He scrounged up a few shiny bits and wired them on to the perch on the front of the car. The flash could dazzle someone oncoming when you drove in to the sun, turning an opponent’s advantageous position against them. He doubted it would come in useful today even if they did get going, but he wasn’t going to let this Boy’s newness tarnish his chrome. He had a reputation.

When the chase resumed, they were in the back. The back! Him! Slit should have taken this Boy’s wheel, then they’d be in front, or so he told himself. Slit pushed down the voice inside that said there was a reason Nux drove and he was the lancer, the voice that said Slit drove mediocre. He was baking in the sun on the front of this new Boy’s car, with nothing to do, and he did not have room for that voice. If he let it talk, it would talk about everything, so he didn’t let it talk. He couldn’t let it talk ever.

The chase appeared to be leading back in to the canyon. Slit groaned; no way now they could get anywhere near the front; no chance to die historic, no chance to get in the fight at all. Slit climbed up the hood to the back and sat dejected on the cargo shelf. Nothing to do but wait until someone else caught the War Rig, until someone else shredded Furiosa, until someone else retrieved the Immorten’s property. Slit watched the desert roll away behind them, absentmindedly jabbing his thigh with the blunt end of a screwdriver he had had in his pocket.

Suddenly the new Boy hit the breaks, slamming Slit’s back against the rear windshield.

“The fuck?”

Up ahead Slit heard crashing, crunching metal. The Coma-Doof Warrior’s chord abruptly cut off. Once the momentum let up, he turned to kneel on the cargo shelf and looked ahead and see what had happened. It was the biggest pile-up he’d ever seen! The new Boy had managed to stop without hitting anything, but most of the cars ahead of them were not so fortunate. The canyon was now well and truly blocked, so even what cars in the back that still ran would not be able to get through.

Slit climbed down to the ground and pulled open the car door.

“Any water in here? Looks like we’re walking back.”

The new Boy gathered up what he could while Slit went around to the other cars to make sure everyone else was doing the same. It soon became clear that he was by far the most experienced War Boy in the back of the caravan, so he took charge of the others. He looped back to make sure the new Boy was coming, finding him busy with something under the dash.

“I’ve disabled it,” he told Slit, obviously pleased with himself, “and the hood locks closed, so scavengers can’t scrap the engine!” Non-standard mods, clearly the Boy had come up with them himself. Ignoring the Boy’s proud, approval-hungry words, Slit flicked his head toward the crash at the other end of the pass and started walking.

“Check in every car!” Slit yelled to the Boys who now accepted his de facto leadership, “Don’t leave anyone to die soft!”

Slit went ahead to one of the bigger rigs that he knew carried an organic kit. The driver was clearly dead, bloodied head stuck through the broken glass of the windshield. Inside the kit were some bandages and a couple needles threaded with treated gut for sutures. Slit knew well enough how to stich up a wound so a Boy would have a chance to get back to the Organic Mechanic. He held up the kit and shouted “Found anyone who needs stitching?” A few Boys waved him over and he used the kit to get who he could up and walking. The fewer needed carrying, the more they could spread out the load; it was not a short walk back to the Citadel. He set a few Boys to gerrymandering splints or crutches for the injureds they found. As they moved forward in the crash there were more dead and fewer survivors. Thrown lancers tended to end up especially gruesome.

The surviving War Boys worked their way through the entirety of the crash. They found a few Bullet Farm and Gastown boys alive, but without paint they were in bad shape. The war paint was fire-retardant, praise the V8. When Slit was in training he’d been shown burns on a Buzzard that had attacked them and wasn’t yet dead. The burns had been grisly and the Buzzard was clearly in a lot of pain. Even now he remembered it. At the time he had been horrified. He had started painting himself twice as thick after that, and had made sure Nux did too. Some of the paintless survivors were burnt as bad as that Buzzard, or worse. The War Boys gave a quick death to the ones who asked. Only two set out back toward the Bullet Farm. Three Gastown boys were able to start their trek, but Slit wouldn’t count on any of them making it back.

The biggest surprise was that the Coma-Doof Warrior wasn’t dead. He and his guitar hung limp from the scaffold, but when someone checked they found he still had a pulse. Immediately a team formed up to gently disentangle him from the cords of his harness and make a stretcher to carry him back. It appeared the Doof Wagon had swerved away from the crash straight on to an outcropping. It was stuck there, but at least there was nothing for Coma-Doof to have been battered against other than his guitar and his speakers. Once they had laid him out on the stretcher and fastened him in place, someone reverently dabbed a few drops of water on his lips, and after he flicked out his tongue for them, he was carefully given a few more. None of them knew what kind of injuries could come of being dashed about on a harness, so they were taking every precaution. They had immobilized all his limbs and two Boys held a shade over the musician. As he seemed to come back to himself more, his exposed mouth contorted and his left hand began to scrabble over what little area it could reach. He blew his breath around his clenched teeth and puffed it through pursed lips making what sounds he could.

“We’re here,” said the water dabber, “you’re safe, with the War Boys. There’s been an accident but the Organic Mechanic will fix you up. We’ve splinted everything just in case.”

Once he heard that someone was there, Coma-Doof slapped the ground with that same left hand.

“Do you want something? What can I do?” The water dabber asked.

Coma-Doof bared his teeth and slapped the ground twice.

“I- I don’t understand.”

Coma-Doof blustered in frustration, flapping his lips with a lung full of air. He slapped the ground, and kept slapping as hard as he could, looking like he might bust out of his arm splint with it. The water dabber scrambled across and grabbed Coma-Doof’s arm, trying to be gentle and hold it down all at once.

“Stop! Don’t hurt yourself more!” he babbled helplessly, “I’ll get you what you need, we’ll figure it out, just-”

“The doublenecked.” One of the Boys holding the sun shade piped up. Coma-Doof stopped struggling instantly. The War Boys tending him called out for the guitar and it was brought and laid out beside him. He rested his hand on it and was quiet.

When they got to the front of the wreck, a handful of War Boys called for Slit. He came to find them gathered around the cab of the overturned War Rig.

“We thought you’d want to see what’s inside,” one said, his expression inscrutable. Slit leaned to peer through the window and gave a whistle.

Now this was a fine mess Nux had gotten himself into. He was somehow still in the driver’s seat of the upside-down rig, dangling. He had what the Organic Mechanic’s predecessor would have called a “goose egk” on his forehead where he’d hit the steering wheel. What was most likely keeping Nux trapped, though, was Rictus. Somehow the rollover had crushed his body between that hood and the rocks beneath them, head and half his torso sticking through the frame of the shattered windshield. Still strapped to his back was his flame-thrower, the muzzle pointed at Nux’s mouth and neck from point blank range. It was pretty clear who had caused the crash.

“Nux you ridiculous bastard, let’s get you out of there,” Slit laughed.

Nux made a small sound in response. If he weren't a War Boy, it might have been a whimper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While finishing this I read somewhere that in the film Slit does get some action in the final battle leading up to the crash. I didn't remember that.


	5. Live Lactating Girls Unite!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Furiosa, Toast, Cheedo, and the Dag go to see the Milk Mothers, and what they find is not what they expect.

When the four of them reached the Milking Room, they found that the Milk Mothers had had a meeting of their own. They must have collected the infants from the nursery, because several women had a nursling at one or both breasts. The others were dressed, which Furiosa had never seen before. The breast pumping apparatus was piled unceremoniously in the corner. The nursery attendants were there as well, playing on the floor with a couple of toddlers. The women were all chatting happily until Furiosa, Cheedo, Toast and the Dag walked in. Then they fell still, their stoney silence broken only by the whimper of a babe that was still adjusting to being fed directly from a human nipple. The former wives recognized defiance in their eyes, the same defiance they had seen in each other on Fury Road. One of the women nursing a baby rose up, adjusting her grip on the child and stepping in front of the others. Her skin was even darker than Toast’s and her face was surrounded by a cloud of golden curls.

“We will not be milked,” she stated simply, head held high and shoulders thrown back. The arch of her eyebrow dared them to contradict her. Furiosa had realized while on Fury Road that her time surrounded by War Boys had left her out of practice at communicating with those who weren’t warriors, so she looked to the others, hoping one of the former wives would have the right words for this situation. Toast, who had been so gung-ho to liberate them, did not know what to say or do now that they had liberated themselves. Cheedo was ashamed that they had forgotten them long enough that the Milk Mothers thought they intended to leave them enslaved. None of them had expected it would be the Dag to make peace.

After a tense moment she stepped toward the woman who had spoken, tilting her head to match the angle of the nursling’s head against the breast. The Dag rubbed a hand over the barely perceptible curve of her lower abdomen. “When mine comes, will you teach me to do that?”

“We will,” she said, the tension of her stance decreasing as she leaned toward the Dag. “Do you know how long?”

The Dag shrugged, “I’ll have to get big first. Do you have a name, or are you picking a new one?”

A small smile flitted across her face. “You know, I think I will choose a new one.”

“I like new names. I’m choosing one too.”

The other women came forward slowly as they spoke about birth and new life and new beginnings and gradually joined the conversation. As the group closed around the Dag, Furiosa called out to her “Are you all set here?” she didn’t know what else to say.

The Dag smiled, tilting her head far in the opposite direction of how she had done before “No one here is things.”

Furiosa smiled back “That’s right.”

“Go on, the Boys need your iron hand.”

Furiosa, Cheedo and Toast withdrew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's title was inspired by "Live Nude Girls Unite!" a fascinating documentary about strippers unionizing. (It is available to watch instantly on Netflix if you want to watch something with absolutely no car chases)


	6. Black Thumb in Training

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From where we left Capable with Wrench agreeing to teach her to be a Black Thumb, she gets through the night and starts her first day of training

He had given her one of his lanterns and told her to come back after breakfast, it was too late to start teaching her tonight, so Capable left the garage, but she did not feel like going back to the others. She remembered in the War Rig, snuggling up against Nux, the smell of him, the warm, gritty feel of his painted skin, the rough fabric of his heavy pants. She closed her eyes and wrapped her arms around herself a moment. Then she headed up the hall.

If she was going to learn to be a Black Thumb, she reasoned, she ought to dress the part. She had the boots, and when she got to the supply room it was easy enough to find a belt and a pair of the black, many-pocketed pants to fit her. She went in to the painting room and used the sheath from Furiosa's blade to jam the door. The knife itself she kept with her, just in case.

She unwrapped her linens and pulled the pants on in their place. War Boys went bare-chested, but Capable did not plan to. She folded a linen and wrapped her breasts similar to the way Furiosa did. That only left her hair. She started to put it up on her head, planning to wrap it in another of her linens, but as a curl fell against the side of her neck, she remembered being with Nux in the back seat of the War Rig.

_She had twisted her hair up on to the top of her head trying to cool off in the claustrophobic heat of the War Rig's cab. Pressed up against him, she felt the gentlest breath blown across the newly exposed skin, the breeze of it so light she thought it was accidental until he took another breath and did it again, first up one side of her neck, then down the other. She let out a small pleased sigh, and the little current of air immediately stopped. Capable turned to look at the War Boy and found him holding his breath with a look of concern plastered across his white painted face. She smiled at him. Her heart fluttered as his white, scarred lips shaped in to their own tentative grin. A lock of hair had fallen and clung to her sweating neck. His hand came up, then stopped, hovering an inch from touching it._

_"I..." He furrowed his brow and gave his head a slight shake, "If you..." he pulled in his scarred lips and bit them closed, shifting his gaze away from her, confused? Embarrassed? Shy? Her impression had been that War Boys were all swagger, fighting and taking what they want. Then she realized what he couldn't find the words to convey; he was asking permission. It filled her with a good feeling she couldn't name. She was already going to allow it because even that one curl coming down was making her hotter, but him, being a War Boy and still asking permission, the good feeling, Capable wanted him to touch her. Even as close as their bodies already were, the intricate scarring on his chest pressed in to her arm, she felt this yearning to get closer, to touch more of him, to feel him touching her. His hand still hovered, even as he couldn't look at her, but she looked at him and whispered "Yes."_

_His eyes snapped back to her face, and she gave him an encouraging smile. Nux's face lit up. She felt the slightest brush of his painted fingers as he picked up the stray curl. He blew lightly on her neck, earning another contented sigh, and then he turned his attention to the lock of hair. He stretched it out so the corkscrew uncurled, taking care not to pull on her head, then slowly moved it back, letting the curl return to its natural shape, tilting his head in fascination. By the time he was done playing with it she had already tucked the rest of her hair up, making another use of the goggles that had been his. As Nux tucked the stray curl up under a braid, she felt the slightest touch of his painted fingers. She tried to lean into his touch, but to her dismay his hand was already away from her scalp. She was about to resign herself to the touching coming to an end when she felt him gingerly stroke the hair up the back of her head. It was lovely._

Capable tried not to cry over the memory. She grabbed a braid, pulled it taught, and sawed it off with Furiosa's knife. She cut off the other one as well, wrapped them in the piece of linen, and set about shaving her head. Nux had stroked her hair, she'd see to it that no one else ever did again so that she could keep the memory of it, of his touch, pure. She had so little of him, every bit was precious.

With the paint, she started at her crown and worked her way down, making sure every inch of exposed skin she could reach was thoroughly painted. The littlest curls at the base of her scalp that she hadn't managed to completely shave off got clotted with paint. She guessed her back was messy and uneven, but she slathered the stuff on down to her wrappings and even splotched some over the edge of the fabric. She hoped the thick war paint would also help keep her wrapping in place, since she was sure to be moving around a lot the next day. Painted white, her slender arms were not taught and toned like Nux's but they looked stronger than when she was pink. When her paint had dried, she ran a white gritty hand over her white gritty stomach. The texture was like touching Nux, but she realized that through the coat of paint, her skin was also just a little bit less sensitive. There was a cubby in the wall with a polished square of metal and a bowl of black. Capable coated her eye sockets thick and dark, with the lightest swipe on the end of her nose.

There, she looked like a Black Thumb now. She didn't admit she was remaking herself in the image of the man she couldn't be with, even when she looked at the bowl of black and wondered how he done Larry and Barry's faces on his neck, even when she resettled the pants to sit right on her hips like his had instead of up at her natural waist, even when she left the painting room and climbed up to the top bunk farthest from the garage, the one Nux had said was so choice, the one Nux had said he and his lancer shared. She put the parcel of her hair under the blanket. The air of the bunks smelled of war paint and grease and guzzoline just like Nux had, and as she tucked herself, back against the wall, in to the bunk and snuggled in to the blanket, she was pleased to find that the fabric clung to the unique human element of his scent. She nuzzled and breathed it, and fell asleep.

In the morning she followed the remaining War Boys to the mess and ate the cabbage gruel that was their breakfast. She reported to Wrench, returning the lantern. He did not comment on her change in appearance, though he had looked surprised when he heard her voice and turned to find her painted and hairless and ready to work.

"Godkiller Capable," the title had started as soon as they'd exposed Joe's corps, "Do you want to be taught exactly the way the War Pups learn?"

"Yes," she said.

He took her over to a square tray as long as her arm, filled with shining tools lovingly arranged by type and size.

"This is a socket wrench," he pointed to one, his voice not muffled but gentle, "these are screwdrivers, flat and crossed, this is a wrench, here are pliers, do you see everything?"

"I think so."

Out of nowhere he swung out, flipping the tray, every pristine tool scattering over the dirty stone floor.

"Pick them up!" he roared. "I want them cleaned and organized by lunch, because you're sure as hell not eating until they are!" He spun faster than it seemed like a man with a metal leg should and went back to the engine he'd been working on when she'd met him the night before.

Capable's mouth was hanging open, but she looked around and none of the others in the garage had so much as glanced over at the noise. This must really be the way he'd treat any Pup. She closed her mouth, righted the tray, and began to gather the tools, repeating their names to herself as she did. Given the half-life ahead of them, she supposed she shouldn’t be surprised that even their first lesson is harsh.

An hour or two later, a hush gradually fell over the various repair bays. Capable looked up to see Furiosa standing over them on a catwalk. She made a brief speech about working together and making the Citadel safe. When she finished, a scattering of Pups and Boys cheered while others remained silent and restless. Wrench came out from behind the engine he had stopped working on, the noises of his mechanical leg audible in the shop since everyone had stopped working to hear her. He put his hands above his head in the salute of the holy V8 and yelled out “Hail Godkiller Furiosa! Hail the Citadel!”

Furiosa raised up her own V8 salute and called out “Hail Wrench, a very useful Boy!”

Capable saw firsthand the influence Wrench had; every Pup and Boy made the V8 and hailed the new leaders, hailed the new Citadel.

Furiosa approached her. She should not have been surprised that after all the Imperator's time telling War Boys apart she would have recognized Capable so quickly.

"Are you alright down here?"

The painted girl nodded.

"I won't tell the others unless you want me to. This is your business, and you can tell them when you're ready."

“But, maybe a little warning before you come up bald and painted? I don’t think they look at War Boys close enough to realize it’s you. Toast would be pretty upset if she shot you by mistake.”

She nodded again. Furiosa was right, Toast would protect the others from an overly familiar War Boy without hesitation.

Wrench sauntered over “Back to work, runt,” he growled. To Furiosa he said “Killer here thinks to train up as a Black Thumb.”

“Killer?” Furiosa asked.

“Full title’s too long for the garage, Godkiller Furiosa,” he casually cracked his back, “Can’t spend longer naming Boys than naming tools.”

Something about Wrench’s gruffness made Capable feel accepted, like he didn’t see her as some delicate thing to be coddled, like he trusted her to be strong enough to take what he dished out to the Pups. Like he thought she really was capable. She smiled at him, “Screwdrivers cleaned and sorted, sockets next!”

He nodded. Furiosa seemed ready to move on. “If you need anything, you know where to find me,” and dropped her voice so only the other woman could hear, “Pups should be able to get me a message if you’re having any trouble. And keep the knife with you, yeah?”

“I will.”


	7. Long Walk Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slit and the other survivors walk back to the Citadel, not expecting what they'll find

The other War Boys managed to cut and pry Nux out of the overturned War Rig. He'd spent long enough hanging upside-down that getting flipped right way up made him black out, but they had had a stretcher ready for him. Slit didn't know how or why Nux had ended up crashing the War Rig, but since the Wives and the Gigahorse weren’t in the wreckage, he was pretty sure when they got back to the Citadel his driver would be hailed as a hero by the Immortan, and well, Slit wouldn't mind a little of that glory deflecting over to him.

The War Boy survivors formed up, the unharmed carrying stretchers or supplies, the injureds hobbling along on splints and crutches, and started their walk back to the Citadel. Before long some Boys were singing a work song.

"By V8 Immortan Joe  
I b’came a War Boy long time ago  
Where did I come from  
I don’t know, my  
Half-life’s for Immortan Joe"

By dusk Slit estimated they were half way. The survivors made camp, which is to say they all stopped walking in roughly the same area. Slit saw to the distribution of water; four capfuls for the Coma-Doof Warrior, two capfuls for everyone else, and there should be enough for everyone to get the same in the morning. When Slit was giving Nux his water, he opened his eyes and smiled at him.

“Valhalla! We made it together after all!”

Slit made a sound that might have qualified as half a chuckle. “Not yet idiot, we’re still alive.”

Nux stared at him, looking pensive, “I didn’t mean to kill you, but I’m glad we can ride together.”

So much for appearances, Slit thought, Boy’s tires are spinning but nobody’s at the wheel. “Yeah, I’m here Nux,” he said, running a hand over his War Partner’s neck and shoulder more gently than he’d admit, “You get some rest. Tomorrow we’re gonna be real historic.”

In the morning Slit gave out water again, four to Coma-Doof, two to each War Boy by seniority. Nux first, then himself, then most of the other injured. Slit kept assessing their water supply as he went, and when he was half way through the unharmed he knocked them down to one and a half capfuls each. That made it go far enough that everybody got a little aqua cola before they set out at least.

The group managed a steady trudge, a few Boys taking up another work song to help pass the time.

"I can use a jack  
And I can drive a Mack  
I can fight, ride Lancer too,  
Do anything Joe tells me to"

They reached the Citadel before midday. They made their way through the Wretched and crowd on to the platform. Slit called up to the Boy in charge of the machinery, but he didn’t respond, just whispers something to a Pup who ran off.

“Aren’t you going to pull us up? We’ve got the Coma-Doof Warrior here, he might be hurt!” Slit yelled.

“Cool your engines, you’re waiting on the boss!”

Immortan was coming to greet them? Slit supposed a lookout would have seen them coming, but would have guessed that Immortan Joe would not bother to meet just any returning injureds. Could a century have picked out Nux at that distance? Then an Imperator came out, the black forehead the only feature he could pick out at this distance. Slit supposed that made more sense. The Boy and the Imperator seemed to be having a conversation, both peering down over the edge at the Boys on the platform.

The Boy in charge of the lift mechanism called down, “Who is that, on the stretcher next to Coma-Doof’s?”

“Nux, my driver!” Slit shouted back, “He’s the one that crashed the War Rig up real chrome!”

Another quick exchange up above. “Send up just the injured first. We’re, uh, we’re short Pups for the tread wheel!”

Slit and the other unhurt got off so just Coma-Doof, his doublenecked, and the other Boys on stretchers could be raised. The tread wheel looked like it had plenty of Pups, but they all knew what it was like to be a Pup turning the tread wheel; they had all heard stories of heavy loads and too few bodies and Pups falling in to the machinery and the hours of work to get their mangled corpses out of the mechanism.

The platform reached the top and the Pups started bringing off the stretchers under the direction of the Imperitor. As the Imperitor gestured, Slit saw a flash of metal. Only one Imperator had a metal arm.

“That’s Furiosa!” Slit yelled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Work song one is to the tune of "Cotton-Eye Joe", work song two is to the tune of "John Henry's Hammer" aka "The  
> Ballad of John Henry"


	8. With the Medical Boys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cheedo was already there before the injureds were brought to receive Medical care.

While Furiosa went to the garages to see the remaining War and Repair Boys, Cheedo and Toast went to see about the Blood Bags they had released the day before. Drogan greeted them cheerily. When they asked about the Blood Bags he informed them that to a one they had taken the meal and aqua cola and fled as soon as the Medical Boys’ backs were turned. Toast sighed.

“You can’t really blame them,” Cheedo said, “we ran when we got the chance too.”

The plan had been for Furiosa to meet them here when she was done, so they asked if there was anything they could help with. Drogan laughed. “There’s always something to do here.”

After Toast got impatient with feeding the coughing invalid Drogan had set her up with, he asked if she might thread some suturing needles for him and took over spooning broth in to the Repair Boy’s mouth whenever he coughing would stop. Toast found the needles frustrating as well, but at least there wasn’t the same risk to the needles’ morale when she muttered curses. The other Medical Boys who were around when they came in seemed to have disappeared. Cheedo he had asked to make the rounds with cups and a jug of aqua cola. Boys and Pups were used to water coming a few gulps at a time, so when Cheedo started passing out full cups of the stuff the patients just about lost their minds. The first Boy assumed she’d made a mistake and was quick to gulp it down before anyone would notice and take back the excess. Another just about fell off his cot. One Boy made the sign of the V8 and reverently whispered “Hail Watergiver” after finishing his cup, and the Pups and two more Boys were quick to follow suit.

Cheedo blushed and stammered “The water was already here for you to drink, I just poured it,” but their eyes still followed her around the room. Toast groaned.

“I can’t take this. I’m going to go count bullets or something.” Toast said, and left.

Drogan asked Cheedo if she had the stomach to help him change some bandages.

“I think so,” she said softly.

“We’ll start, and if it’s too much, I can wait and do the rest when the other Medical Boys get back.”

“Where did they all go?”

Drogan leaned in and whispered conspiratorially “I think Godkiller Toast scared them off. Some War Boys don’t cuss that bad getting their bones set!”

Cheedo giggled. She was used to her now, but Toast had scared her when they first met too. Everything had scared her back then, she mused, but now, here she was, surrounded by War Boys – yes, most of them were currently bedridden, but still – and even talking to one. Cheedo felt like a seed was growing inside her chest, the seed of a feeling that she hadn’t felt since before the Vault. She thought she remembered it being called “pride”.

Drogan carefully removed old bandages from a War Pup’s back and shoulder. It looked like it was partially healed after his skin had been scraped up something awful. Cheedo could see the Pup’s arms, even the back of his scalp had been scraped too, but under the bandages was the worst of it. Drogan dabbed at where the wound was still open and seeping with a few swabs.

“Are you alright so far?”

Cheedo nodded, but he wasn’t looking, “Yes. What happened to him?”

“Fell off a moving car; he’s training to be a lancer. Going to have some shiny scars, eh Tuck?” Drogan said to the Pup. After getting Tuck rebandaged, Drogan and Cheedo moved on to another patient. Drogan hummed while he worked.

“Why are you so happy?” she asked him, legitimately curious.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, the Immortan’s dead, the Organic Mechanic, all the War Boys who chased us, everything’s changing, but you’re here, working and going on as if everything’s ok?”

Drogan smiled. “The War Boys don’t have much to do with us unless we are fixing them up. My friends are Medicals like me, or Repair Boys, and the thing is, Immortan wouldn’t carry you to Valhalla for keeping engines or War Boys going. When you’re not gonna die historic, you have to find some other purpose, the previous Organic Mechanic taught me that. I like fixing people up. The body healing is a remarkable thing.”

“There was an Organic Mechanic before the one who died on Fury Road?”

Drogan nodded. “He was an old man, older than Joe was when he died. He trained up as an Organic Mechanic in the before times. They had pills and machines to do all kinds of things back then. They even had a machine for looking inside people, to see if their bones were broken. He had these rules about taking care of people, the new Organic Mechanic didn’t follow ‘em, but I make sure all the Pups who start training Medical know ‘em.”

“Like what?”

“Like take your best care of everyone, not by what someone says. The new Organic let Joe and the Imperators tell him who was worth saving. To me that’s about the worst thing a Medical Boy could do, not fix someone who needs it,” talking about the dead man finally chased the smile from his face. “Some rules about working clean he didn’t follow too. Do you think if there’s another Organic Mechanic you and the other Godkillers can require him to follow the old rules? It’s important, to me at least.”

He was asking her to do something, something that wasn’t just her body, something good. It felt like it filled her up big. It was more of that pride thing.

“I’ll talk to them about it,” she said, confident she could keep that promise.

They could hear a lot of footsteps coming down the hall, and voices, and suddenly stretchers were coming in, four Pups carrying each. Drogan snapped in to action, directing the Pups where to put each patient, sending the first two sets of Pups off to locate the other Medical Boys now he needed them.

Cheedo backed up to the wall to get out of the way. She thought she recognized the red onesie of the mad guitarist from Fury Road, then she heard one of the Pups telling Drogan they were survivors from the crash and Furiosa would be there soon but she was talking to the unharmed War Boys who had carried them back. Cheedo caught sight of a Boy with a large image scarred in to his chest, and she made her way closer.

“You, check everyone, tell me if there’s wet blood. You tell me who’s got blood on them bigger than my hand, and you check who’s conscious.” Drogan instructed the Pups with a calm urgency.

Now she was next to his cot, Cheedo could see, even with the swelling on his forehead, the unconscious War Boy was clearly Nux.

“Drogan! Drogan!”

The Medical Boy rushed over.

“This is him, the Boy who helped us!”

“Did you see something on him?” Drogan asked as he leaned down to take a closer look.

“He’s the one who helped us,” she repeated, less sure what she wanted from him.

“Are you asking me to treat him more important?” Drogan asked, and she could see the hurt in his eyes that she would ask him to violate the principles he had just explained to her.

“No, just, for him, is there anything I can do?”

Cheedo could feel Drogan’s relief.

“Don’t see too much yet other than that bump on the head. You could put a cool wet cloth on it.” And he went back to assessing the other War Boys’ injuries.

Cheedo got a cloth like he recommended and mopped Nux’s forehead. “Thank you,” she whispered to the continuously surprising War Boy.


	9. Offer the Choice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Furiosa speaks to the returned War Boys

The group of War Boys on the ground turned in to a roiling mob after that shout. Apparently they thought they had returned victorious.

When she saw Nux among the injured, Furiosa sent a Pup to the garages to bring "Killer" up to Medical. She shook her head as she mentally compared the bald, painted, Black Thumb-in-training that she had met this morning to the trembling opalescent creature she had boosted in to the hold of the War Rig less than a week before. She never would have pegged Capable as the getting dirty type, the effect that Boy had on her was powerful and strange. Still, she thought, rolling her shoulders in a way that made three vertebra crack, glad he survived.

Once the stretchers were clear, Furiosa drove the Gigahorse back on to the platform and grabbed Joe's bloody face mask. She told them to lower her a quarter of the way, and sat in the driver seat gathering her strength. When the mechanism ground to a halt, Furiosa heaved herself up on to the hood of the ugly machine. At least there was no mistaking who’s car it was.

"Immortan Joe is dead. We rule the Citadel now!" She brandished the disgusting mask.

Another outcry from the War Boys below.

"We have a place for any War Boy who can accept the new order. He will have food, and water, and the chance to be useful. He will be cared for. And he will not be a thing! No one here is a thing!"

The Boys' reaction to that seemed, from her vantage point to be one of puzzlement. Furiosa climbed off the car hood and singled for them to raise her back up. She plopped back in to the Gigahorse's seat and rested as they raised her.

"Don't lower the platform without me here to give permission," she instructed, and went to Medical to find out the prognosis on the returning injured.

When she got there, Cheedo beckoned her over to Nux's cot. He was still unconscious, but considering the crash, he was in pretty good shape. Medical Boys were buzzing around the other wounded. Cheedo dabbed a wet cloth to Nux's lips, said he'd been checked and found to mainly be hot and dried out and probably concussed. Furiosa had seen that technique used before to get moisture in to an unconscious Boy without drowning him.

"Capable will want to see him," Cheedo pointed out.

"Someone's bringing her. There's more War Boys below, though, uninjured ones. I told them they're welcome-"

"But-"

Furiosa held up a hand "If they can accept our changes. Thing is, we could use some more strong healthy Boys to help us out, and to defend the Citadel, guard any trading missions. They're worked up now, we need to figure out how to bring them around."

"Are they harming the Wretched?"

"Not that I saw. I don't think it occurs to them that we'd care. Where is Toast?"

"Went off. She doesn't like it here, and the Blood Bags had already left."

Furiosa saw the Pup she had sent down peering through the doorway and turning back to speak to someone out of sight. He'd found Capable. "Let's find her and the Dag, see if we can't come up with a plan."

Cheedo nodded "Maybe Capable will come back to us, now that he's here."

Furiosa didn't know what to say to that. She got a run down on the various injuries, who was how bad. A couple needed blood, and Furiosa started to tell the Boy they'd just have to work around it, when Cheedo piped up that if someone was willing to share their blood, that should be alright, and maybe they could get some extra food for it? Furiosa agreed. On their way out she told a Medical Boy that the Pup, Scrap, was bringing Nux a visitor who could stay as long as they wanted.


	10. Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Capable and Nux are reunited, but Nux thinks he died. You know, regular stuff.

Soon she finished cleaning and organizing the sockets. She showed Wrench the finished tool tray. He carefully checked that all the sizes were correctly ordered, and she thought she detected a small grin of surprise.

"Good work," he said, "and fast. most Pups are so excited to be in the garage they get distracted. Come watch what I'm doing for a while, you can hand me things."

Capable suspected this might be considered a reward. Unless there was more surprise yelling. But he seemed pleased. She made sure she handed him exactly what he asked for though.

She wasn't at it for long before a Pup came down looking for "Killer". He said to come up to Medical, and her heart froze- Furiosa, her wounds, was she back like she had been in the Gigahorse, wheezing and close to death? She looked at Wrench.

"Go on where you're needed. And have some lunch before you come back. If they need you longer, still have lunch; that'll be a long day." He gave a nod. He knew about Medical.

When they got there, she heard female voices from the hall, and remembered what Furiosa had said about not popping out unexpectedly.

"Check for me, is there a woman on a cot in there?"

He looked, "No, lots more War Boys on cots though, must be the ones that got carried back. Furiosa's in there talking to one of the other Godkillers."

They waited outside, and soon Furiosa and Cheedo hustled past. The former Imperator gave her a small smile.

She wanted to thank the Pup, but it didn't seem to be the War Boy way. She thought back to Furiosa in the garage.

"Useful," she said, and patted his shoulder as she went in to Medical. He beamed.

"Furiosa sent for me to come?" She asked the Medical Boy nearest the doorway.

"The visitor she mentioned, you got here quick. He's over by the wall." He continued bandaging as he spoke.

She went over, and there he was. She knelt beside his cot and brushed her fingers across his lips as she had when she found him on the back of the Rig and felt the gentle puff of his breath.

"Nux," she whispered, almost afraid waking him would break the spell, that her eyes were playing tricks and it was some other War Boy, but if he stayed like this at least...

Big blue eyes opened, darted around a bit, out of focus. He moved his lips a little, as if he intended to form words but hadn't chosen them yet.

"Here, water," she said, offering the flask from her pocket. He grasped it unsteadily and drank.

"We reached Valhalla, Slit and I, historic!" A grin passed across his face, then he finally looked at her. His mouth fell open, the position of his lips emphasizing his scars. "V8, a War Boy who looks like Capable. How long have you been dead?"

She cupped her hand around his cheek "It's me, I _am_ Capable."

"Oh no, oh shiney Capable, I'm sorry you died. You should be with the others at the Citadel, making the new Green Place. Did I not crash well enough?"

"Nux, I'm not dead. You're not dead. We're alive and together and... not dead."

He shook his head knowingly. "Oh Capable, you must not remember; you weren't a War Boy when you were alive. You were soft and chrome and you had red, all this red hair and a soft pink body, and," he sighed, and his look was far away for a moment, then he came back to her "I'm sorry you died, but I'm glad someone Witnessed you, I'm glad you're here in Valhalla. I'm glad you found me." He reached up and ever so gently toughed her cheek. She noticed again how different things felt through paint. She leaned down and kissed him on the cheek as he had kissed her when she cut the chain. although she may have caught the corner of his mouth in her kiss. Also possible that it was a little more lingering than his quick buss before he ran off to link the chain to the winch line.

After the kiss she kept her face near his. "But we're alive."

"Did any of the others make it at least?"

She shot up, exasperated. "We all did! We're alive!" She grabbed the arm of a passing Medical Boy. "He thinks he's dead!"

The Boy glanced at Nux over the bundle of singed and bloodied pants he was carrying. "No needles in Valhalla, mate." The Medical Boy gestured at the Boy getting sutured on a cot across the way and kept on walking.

Nux looked. "I'm alive." Looked at Capable, "You're alive." Smiled, then looked confused, "But why are you a War Boy?"

**Author's Note:**

> I totally have a tumblr now  
> http://dahliavandare.tumblr.com/


End file.
